


homemade dynamite

by theredvipers



Category: Papillon (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassin's Creed Fusion, M/M, but i like. take a lot of liberties with canon since it's been a while since i played the games, not really any super graphic depictions of violence except a dude gets murdered because this i
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 16:18:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19023493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theredvipers/pseuds/theredvipers
Summary: “Safety and peace, brother.” Henri muttered through his teeth. The Brotherhood knew how much he disliked working with Dega, who preferred a coward’s weapon like poison to the old ways of the assassins. Too bad that poison was no longer banned in the Brotherhood, or Dega might have been forced to dirty his hand. Henri would have liked to see it, for once.





	homemade dynamite

**Author's Note:**

> literally no one:
> 
> me: but what if i took the initial hostility between them and made it 10x more intense BECAUSE they are both part of the brotherhood
> 
>  
> 
> self indulgent. have no excuse for it.
> 
> uuuh i would say you don't really need to know anything about AC to read this but i did use some lore included in the games. the apple of eden can be basically used to control humanity. the assassins believe in freedom above all so they try to protect it from the templars (when it is in their hands) assassins and templars have always been enemies because the templars wish to establish a government where they can control everyone.
> 
> not really set in their time. maybe set in the late 1700s. the brotherhood still existed in france back then. like i said, been a while since i played AC, so my canon is rusty, and i had to use the wiki to confirm some details. didn't end up making use of a lot of canon stuff (like the ranks among assassins, the true location of the paris brotherhood, etc etc)  
> also, 'safety and peace, brother' is my favorite greeting in any AC game ever so i abused tf out it. so this is like. Lightly Inspired? but still an AU? and i am so very sorry?
> 
> thinking about how their dynamic might have shifted but remained the same in some aspects . was interesting. i don't think i'll expand on this but i had to post it otherwise i felt like i was gonna go insane.

“Safety and peace, brother.” Henri muttered through his teeth. The Brotherhood knew how much he disliked working with Dega, who preferred a coward’s weapon like poison to the old ways of the assassins. Too bad that poison was no longer banned in the Brotherhood, or Dega might have been forced to dirty his hand. Henri would have liked to see it, for once.

Dega’s eyes were greener than he’d ever seen them, softly lined by kohl, all Henri could see as Dega’s face was covered with a scarf. Caimán liked the look on his lovers. Henri… well, he wouldn’t deny that he could see the appeal. “Nothing that involves you can be peaceful, _brother._ ” Dega replied pointedly. Henri repeated the creed in his mind so he would not draw his blade. Dega did not return the greeting, and pulled his scarf down. “I swear, Charrière, if you undo all my hard work…”

Henri rolled his eyes. They were in a building that belonged to an ally of the Brotherhood, far away from prying eyes and imprudent ears. “Not my fault if you were not careful.”

They’d been after Caimán for close to a year now. As a Grand Master, he was properly guarded, and not one of their siblings-at-arms had been able to get close to him while avoiding Templar detection. And he was now the one in charge of looking for the Apple, which was the reason he was their target.

Dega himself had noted that Caimán was not nearly as careful as other Templars, for he took lovers that he trusted too soon, too fast. And so he had been the one that suggested one of them pretend to be Caimán’s lover before dealing the final blow. He had been chosen because Caimán knew the spanish Assassins, and he even knew of Nenette, and Henri was not the type that he went for. He had taken the task reluctantly, but with ease, mainly because he did seem to take his duty to serve the Brotherhood to heart, and because the assassins of the Spanish order had pleaded with him; Henri didn’t even know Dega had friends in Spain. 

And now, any day now, Caimán would die by their hand.

Dega did not rise to his bait. “I was. But you are not.” He rubbed a hand on his face, careful to not disturb his kohl-lined eyes. “I told you to stay away until I could get him alone in an open space. Or away from that guard of his.”

Henri felt himself growing more irritated, but reminded himself they here for the greater good. Usually, Dega would run the mission solo, but even the Mentor had thought that it would be wiser for the both of them to be on it. Henri suspected that, like many, he took them for friends, when they could barely stand each other. Ever since they were apprentices, Dega had a way of getting under his skin. “The Mentor grows inpatient. You are taking your sweet time.”

Dega sighed. “Every day, we are surrounded by his guards. He has placed me in quarters surrounded by _more_ guards. But I think we will have a chance.” Dega explained. “In two weeks, he will throw a party. His guards are then used around the perimeter, but leave his personal quarters alone.”

Papi could see what Dega intended to do. It wouldn’t take much convincing for Dega to drag Caimán to his quarters, using the excuse that he wanted more privacy, and then they would be able to kill him. “I thought by now you would’ve poisoned him.” That had come up when the Mentor had asked Henri about Dega, but he had not pressed the issue. Perhaps he had come to understand that brute force would be required, after all.

Dega had been chosen because of the fact Caimán didn’t know him, and for his expertise of poisons. Dega shook his head. “You’ve been listening, right? Guards. _Everywhere_. I would be an obvious suspect if he were to drop dead after his afternoon tea.” But he did not speak with that condescending tone of his he seemed to reserve for Henri. He simply sounded a bit tired.

If it’d been Henri, he would have done it in plain daylight. Guards be damned. They had safehouses for a reason, and allies that would hide them. But he understood that the Brotherhood also worried about making their presence too public. He nodded. “Two weeks from now. How do you plan on getting me inside this party?”

Dega started putting his scarf back on. “It will be public. That’s why security will be tight. Fitting.” Dega looked at Henri, then said, “We do work in the dark–”

“To serve the light.” Henri easily continued. He put on his own hood. It was getting darker, now. Dega was expected back at Caimán’s. For Henri, slipping back into the safehouse was less risky at this time. The Templars had eyes everywhere, and the mission was not to be compromised.

“Safe tidings.” Dega said, but his voice did not betray any emotion. Henri was not surprised. Dega cared not if Henri’s tidings were safe; he cared about completing his task. He slipped out of the building, mindful of any curious eyes. Henri watched him slip into the streets from a window.

He whispered, “Good hunting.” Dega did not hear him. For as much as he could not stand the man, they were brothers in the creed. Reluctantly so, but the bond of assassins joined them.

-

Henri was ten when he had tried to steal from Celier. He had never heard of Assassins and Templars, and so had not recognized Celier’s robes as the robes of a Master Assassin. He’d simply taken Celier’s bag, ran for his life, and hidden inside an abandoned building, the way he often did after a particularly good pull.

Inside the bag, there had been money, but there had been a name and an address too. Henri had not been surprised when Celier had found him.

“A little, clever mouse.” Celier had said, but he looked at Henri like he had discovered something he should not have. “Do you not know what I am, boy?”

And so, Celier had taken him in. Not as a father and son, but as an assassin and his apprentice. The Brotherhood also required he train alongside other apprentices, and it was then that he met Dega.

His bunkmate had been a scrawny boy with big eyes. Owl, Celier liked to call him. Assassins did not do affection, not really, but Celier had seemed to be fond of Dega.

They had clashed immediately. Dega took his role as an apprentice seriously, and Henri looked at it as a better life than the streets, so he had no problem with skipping lessons to use his newly learned skills for mischief. Celier had told him that had it not been for the Brotherhood, Henri would have landed himself in one of France’s offshore prisons, framed by some enemy he would have pissed off too much. Even then, Henri had known Celier was right, but the comfortableness of a stable life in the Brotherhood did not warm him to Dega.

Unlike Henri, Dega was not a foundling. His family had been part of the Brotherhood for generations, and so, Dega had been raised with the understanding that one day he would also join the Brotherhood.

Henri had tried to be friendly, at first. Bunkmates rarely ever changed, unless someone died or decided not to pursue the path of the Assassin. Ahead of them were years of training side by side. They could not bicker forever.

Or so he had thought. He simply did not understand how Dega irritated him so. He was too optimistic about everything, he came from old money, a respectable family, and it showed. He was too smart for his own good, too sure about his place in the world.

Others took to it less kindly than Henri had. Once, Dega had entered their room with his cheek a furious red.

“That will bruise.” Henri had said.

Dega had ignored him, but he hadn’t had to name any names for Henri to know that that’d been the work of other apprentices who thought Dega believed he was too good for the likes of them.

“I could… help.” Henri had offered.

Dega had looked at him, but he had not looked angry or offended, just tired. “Said the scorpion to the frog.” He had declared.

Henri had huffed, “We are all scorpions here.”

That had been the last time he had extended his hand to Dega. It had felt like it’d been slapped away.

Even so, everyone else seemed to think of them as good friends. They had come to a truce of sorts. Henri helped Dega when he needed it, and in turn, Dega helped him. It was a mutual understanding that they were not friends, but allies of sorts. It had always been good enough.

Except once, Henri had seen the other apprentices taunting Dega.

“Oh, your little boyfriend is here.” One of them had said. Henri did not remember the boy; he had probably left before rising through the ranks. He did remember taking on three apprentices, not out of anger, but because Dega had been in danger. That had been strange; as they grew, he had noticed that they kept denying being friends, but protected each other at such, even when they were at each other’s throats. He had never looked too deeply into it, and back then, had only pounced _because_ it had been Dega in that situation.

“You came.” Dega had said. He had approached Henri like he had been a wild animal. “I didn’t call.”

Henri had shrugged. He had been threatened with expulsion from the Brotherhood, but Dega had actually defended him then too. They had not spoken, afterwards. Not even to thank each other.

Their understanding had always worked.

-

Once the two weeks had passed, the plan had been made. Henri would not go to the party, and would instead sneak into Caimán’s chamber, waiting for Dega. He climbed the window–which was honestly stupid of Caimán, to not have security placed near his own personal rooms that had a window facing the open street. Henri was baffled. The man was a Templar Grand Master by a strike of dumb luck, or so it seemed.

Better for them, then, that a man that lacked vision and precaution was looking for the Apple. Dega had assured him he was nowhere near finding it, but they could never be too sure. Better to nip anything in the bud than risk the Apple falling into Templar hands.

He was bored. Dega would have to be at the party for a while to not rouse any suspicion. Caimán’s personal guards did not trust Dega, but they also did not think him a great danger. Henri had seen it for himself. They kept a watchful eye on him, but seemed to not care what he did if he was with Caimán.

 _That_ had been something to get used to. Henri was like Dega’s shadow for this mission, following him to observe and protect if worse came to worst, and with Caimán, one never knew. Caimán seemed to think Dega was utterly infatuated with him, a man of his power and influence; richest man in Granada, friend of the politicians that got things done, rumored to be a favorite of the royal family, too.

Spain was not completely Templar territory, but the influence was strong, and similar to Henri, Caimán had joined the Templars after a life on the streets, and risen quickly through their ranks because he was focused, lethal, and blood-thirsty. He had killed the Grand Master that had previously held his post, but he had somehow passed it off as an accident.

He had to admit that had worried him, the tiniest bit. Dega was as much of an assassin as Henri was, just as good at his job, but he had been softer, back when they’d been apprentices. Pulled his punches and had been very shaken the first time he had taken a life; that was why he had decided to learn the ways of poison. It was more impersonal.

He was not the only one; many were often hardened by the life of the Brotherhood. Dega had been too, after a while. For a whole year, Henri had not seen him. Dega had then been apprenticed to some assassin that operated mainly in Italy and hunted down Templars. When he had returned, something in his eyes had changed, but they were still as soft as Henri had remembered them, there was just… something else in them. Harder. Steel-like.

So he had been worried, but Dega had played the part wonderfully, pretending to be a dull, bright-eyed boy who simply wished to live lavish, and was drawn to Caimán for that very reason. Caimán had eaten it up, and though he kept many lovers, Dega had quickly become a favorite, from what Henri had seen. Often, he was at Caimán’s arm at public functions, dressed in the finest fabrics that money could buy, with a guard of his own. Caimán took care of what he thought of as his.

He almost shuddered, thinking of it. Caimán was not a man prone to modesty, and many times, from the shadows, Henri had averted his eyes as Caimán’s hands clung to Dega, who was truly a good actor, for Henri knew he did not find Caimán attractive even if many others did. Dega did not once recoil whenever he was the main object of Caimán’s affections, but looked like he too enjoyed it; he even smiled at Caimán the way he never had with Henri. That had made something in Henri’s stomach turn, had felt like a blow had been dealt to his gut. The feeling had been strange, and he had not liked it.

Before he realized, he heard steps. It was time, then. He took a deep breath, and jumped, before he clung to the roof. Caimán was more likely to hear him if he remained on the ground, and as Dega carried no weapons in order to not look suspicious, it would be left to Henri to kill Caimán. He would have taunted Dega about it, asking if he hated dirtying his hands so much, but he had not been opposed to the idea of being the one that got to twist a dagger into Caimán’s gut. Maybe he would cut his throat. Then he would bleed out faster.

The door opened, and he stilled. Any minute.

“Someone is eager,” he heard Caimán groan. Jesus, he hated the bastard’s voice. The throat it would be then.

“I hate it when I have to share you.” Dega said, his voice raspy and low. Henri had never heard him speak with such low cadence, and stamped down the small spark of desire in his gut. He understood why he had Caimán dancing in the palm of his hand.

He heard Caimán chuckle, and then, very low, what sounded like them kissing. He heard huffs and puffs and groans, and then a soft _thud,_ right under him. Dega had told him to cling to the ceiling right above the bed, for it was not easily reached by light, not even moonlight. Henri dared a look down, and saw Caimán’s back, and Dega on his back on the bed. Dega did not meet his eyes, and laughed breathily.

“You know…” Dega started, his voice almost a whisper. “I think–”

“What is it?” Caimán asked. Henri knew what would come next. Dega had not wanted to waste time with ‘ridiculous foreplay’, and he had also not wanted to risk Caimán detecting Henri’s presence, so he had told Henri that he was to attack after Dega got Caimán into bed.

Dega laughed again, “I thought we could use some company.” Henri let himself go, and before he could reach the end of his fall, drew his hidden blade.

Caimán thrashed about like an animal that was being slaughtered, but Dega surprisingly held him in place while covering his mouth. Not that he'd had much time to scream for help. Henri stabbed him twice in the back, then reached for his neck, and slashed.

“Deeper.” Dega whispered. So far they had not heard the telltale signs of guards outside, but they were to leave soon. “You have not reached the artery.”

So Henri dug deeper. Caimán stopped moving, and Dega somehow held both their weights until Henri finally stepped on the ground. Then, Dega got up, Caimán’s body thrown aside on the bed.

“The guards will not suspect until tomorrow in the morning.” Dega explained. “I will burn my clothes and then we will leave. Did you–” wordlessly, Henri handed him a change of clothes. Assassin robes. More importantly, not bloodied. “Good. Wait.”

A fire was already running in the chimney. The days were not cold yet, but winter would reach them soon, and the nights were chilly, so the fire was convenient, but dumb, if you asked Henri. Dega undressed quickly, and though Henri meant to give him a modicum of privacy, he was unable to look away. So sue him, Dega was not a sore sight. He had always known, but being reminded of it was always… an experience.

Although they were almost the same height, Dega’s shoulders were not as broad, and he was toned, but not in the way Henri was; Dega had always been somehow smaller, even when they’d grown into their bodies. Henri only averted his gaze when Dega turned around to look at him and almost caught him staring at his ass. Dega wiped his face with his old clothes, then threw them into the fire.

“Right. Well. Let’s go.” Dega said, already close to the window Henri had entered the room through.

“Good hunting.” Henri said. Dega nodded.

“It was technically you hunting.” He pointed out. “Keep up.”

Dega jumped, and Henri followed. They landed and grabbed onto the wall opposite the window, and started climbing, until they reached the roof of the other building. They were to meet a man that would smuggle them out of Granada in his merchant boat. Usually, they would have done the journey back to France by foot, but the Assassins of the Spanish Order had suggested a journey by sea would be less risky. The Templars would suspect the Spanish Assassins first, and by the time they realized Caimán’s death was the work of a foreigner, Henri and Dega would be in France, or on their way to the next target.

-

Once they had reached the port, the merchant had been there as promised. “Safety and peace, brother.” Dega said. “We thank you for your kind help.”

“I have always been a friend of the Brotherhood.” The man said, tipping his hat at them. “Welcome aboard _El Silencio._ ”

Thankfully, their host let them eat dinner in their room, and left their to their own devices. Once there, they shook off their robes, and were left in a standard black shirt and pants. There was a small table in the middle, between their beds, and two chairs placed next to each other, instead of facing each other. Either way, dinner–an assortment of cheeses, meats, and fruit, with some wine to wash it down–would be an affair with little personal space if they both wanted to eat on the table.

Dega washed the rest of the blood off, using the water he had asked for. “This is why I prefer poison.” He said, scrubbing at his neck. “Less messy.”

Henri had already sat down, not caring to move the chairs so they would be facing each other instead. “It is just as messy–”

“Depending on the poison. I know.” Dega confirmed. “You know what I mean. If I could just have poisoned him, I would have used one that made him sleep to never wake up.”

Henri bit into an apple just as Dega sat down. He had not moved his chair, surprisingly. He was either in a good mood because of a job well done, or he was too tired to care that their knees touched.

“It was _you_ hunting.” Henri said. The silence between them, despite the tension, was not uncomfortable, but he felt like he had to say something. “You fooled him.”

Of course, Dega could not just take his attempt at a compliment, and said, “I am convinced that almost anyone with a heartbeat could have fooled him, but thank you.”

Henri looked at Dega again; he had washed away the blood, but the candlelight let Henri see that he had somehow not washed away the kohl around his eyes, it had only smudged a bit. It was. Different. To be so close to Dega without either of them throwing the first verbal punch. To let himself take in what Dega looked like without making up a excuse for it. Because he did make quite the sight, even if he was not done up the way he had been for Caimán’s party.

“No,” Henri said. He noticed a tiny smudge of blood that Dega had not washed, right above his cheek. He reached out without thinking, and cleaned it with his thumb. Dega did not tense. He simply looked at Henri like this was something they did. Henri softly swiped his thumb on Dega’s cheek. Dega did not move away. “No. You look… well. I understand. Why Caimán let himself be fooled.”

Dega raised his hand, and softly took Henri’s hand down, leaving it on Henri’s knee. Only then did Henri notice how close they were, his body turned towards Dega. “You are tired. Possibly drunk. Damned lightweight.” But they both knew that was a lie. He had barely had a glass, and could hold his liquor.

Henri truly felt like something had short circuited in his brain. He leaned closer, and Dega did not flinch, simply raised an eyebrow, amused. They had not been this close since they had been apprentices, and that had been different; Henri had almost punched Dega for offending him in some way. He had probably called Henri an idiot, and he’d had enough, and lifted Dega by his shirt. They’d been nose to nose then.

This was different. He didn’t know what had brought it on. Perhaps he had underestimated his own, deeply buried desire for Dega. He had been aware of it. It had been brewing for years, this strange camaraderie of theirs that let them be close but would not let them admit to that closeness. Their own mouse and cat game where they both knew they clashed and yet could not stay away.

Maybe it _had_ been brewing and it had reached a boiling point. Maybe Henri was going insane.

“I am tired _and_ you are rather pretty in this lighting.”

Sometimes they teased each other like that. _Oh, the way you can’t hit the target with an arrow is so very attractive, Charrière. No less attractive than when you can’t throw a dagger in a straight line, Dega_. But never in a way that lent itself to other interpretations. Dega knew this was different.

Dega did not laugh when he said, “I assume that has worked before.”

Henri shrugged. “Did it work now?”

Dega raised a hand to Henri’s forehead, and frowned. “Not a fever, then.” He said, and drew his hand away. “You are acting rather… strange.”

Henri knew that by now, they would be making conversation and then they would go to bed. He truly had no idea what had made him say what he was thinking.

“Not so strange,” Henri said. “Remember the night of my seventeenth birthday?”

“I do.” Dega said. “That was… a mutual agreement. A lapse of judgement on your part. And years ago.”

Henri had confessed that he had never kissed anyone. Not like there was much room for romance in the Brotherhood; either you hated the other apprentices, didn’t care for them, or simply did not click with them like that. He had felt rather silly until Dega had admitted to having never kissed anyone too.

So Henri’d had the brilliant idea of kissing to get it out of the way. It had been nice, slow, different. Before that day, the thought of kissing Dega had crossed his mind–they spent a lot of time together after all. But after that, well. The thought had always been in the back of his mind, and had decided to make an upfront appearance.

“A lapse on _my_ part?” Henri demanded.

“You were rather popular.” Dega explained. “You could have asked anyone else. I was convenient.”

It was a half true; Henri had been popular, in that silly teenage way. But Dega had not been convenient. Henri had just not thought of anyone else to kiss.

“Doesn’t mean that I was not sincere.” Henri said defensively. “Why is it always on me?”

Dega shook his head. “This is _silly_. I’m going to sleep. Help yourself to the rest.”

Before Dega could get up, Henri grabbed his arm. They looked at each other. “How’s this for a lapse of judgement?” he tugged, and brought Dega down, until their lips met.

The kiss was brief, but Dega did not tear them apart with force. He simply shoved at Henri’s shoulder. “Is this a thing with you?” he asked. Henri just looked at him, clueless by what he meant. “Lapses of judgement after important jobs?”

They had not often been forced into close quarters together after a mission, so of course Dega thought this was Henri coming down from an adrenaline high.

“Not often.” Henri said. Dega rolled his eyes, but he leaned down, and kissed Henri. It was soft and short, basically a good night kiss.

“Sleep it off.” Dega said.

Before Henri could suggest they sleep it off together, Dega slipped away.

There was no denying that there was tension, but that it had shifted in a way.

-

Their return to Paris was uneventful. Dega reported to the Mentor and they were both given pats in the back for a job well done. They would have downtime until their next assignment.

As they made their way to their own quarters, Henri asked, “You think they’ll send us for the Apple?”

The Spanish Branch had done a good job of guarding it, but with Caimán’s death, the Templars were bound to grow suspicious and might have begun to look for the Apple in earnest. The Apple would need to find a new sanctuary even if they didn’t look for it.

Dega shook his head. “Too close to Caimán’s death for comfort. If anything, the spaniards will bring it to us.”

Henri supposed Dega was right, now that he thought about it. They might be sent out to get the Apple to a new hiding place if necessary, but until then, they were allowed to rest and relax. Rarely did a mission take them weeks to complete, but it had been worth it. The Templars were left shaken and would need time to regroup. Caimán’s death also meant that any progress he had made in search of the Apple was also dead.

“I suppose,” Dega said. They were close to their quarters, now. Ever since they’d actually joined the ranks, they had been allowed quarters of their own. _But Dega and Charrière are a package deal,_ Celier had argued, and so they had been given quarters near each other even though neither of them had asked for it. “I should thank you.”

Henri _was_ taken aback. He and Dega never thanked each other for back up during missions. It was what they did. How they worked. He frowned. “Strange of you to say that. It is–”

“Very strange.” Dega interrupted. “Enjoy it while it lasts. How is it that they say? ‘Take the compliment’.”

Big of him to ask that of Henri, but Henri did not point it out. “Hm. Alright. But it was my duty.”

“You could have simply handed me the blade and made me finish him myself.” Dega argued.

“You dislike using blades.” And although he had not enjoyed it, he had not been opposed to the idea of him being the one that killed Caimán. It had also been more convenient, and not so much for Dega’s own convenience. They both knew that.

“It was messy anyways.” Dega then took a step closer into Henri’s personal space, but Henri did not back down. He raised an eyebrow. Dega was clearly not amused, and rolled his eyes. “I said I would thank you.”

It didn’t down on Henri, what Dega meant, until after Dega had kissed him. Soft and quick again, and before he could grab at _anything_ , Dega had stepped out of his personal space.

“Two can play this game.” Dega deadpanned. “Do not play it with me again.”

Then, he walked into his room.

-

Afterwards, Henri was sure that Dega was avoiding him. No matter at what hour or day, or where he went, Dega was never there. While Dega had always been good at stealth–otherwise he wouldn’t have become an assassin–Henri could not ever recall a time where, no matter how cross with each other they were, Dega had never avoided him with such ease.

Celier noticed when he caught Henri walking into the library for the second time on the same day. “Looking for anyone?” he asked. He knew who Henri was looking for, but took joy in teasing him about it. It had been that way from the moment Henri and Dega had become bunkmates, then unofficial mission partners.

Henri shrugged. “It’s boring around here. Nothing to do.”

“Down time is rare. Make the best of it.” Celier then looked at his face, possibly trying to gauge whether Henri was lying. “Ah, of course this is about young Dega.”

Henri rolled his eyes. “Do not start.”

Celier had the nerve to attempt to look innocent. “Me? No, no.” Then he shrugged. “I simply find it odd that you were not asked to accompany him to Egypt.”

Henri could not help himself, and asked, “Egypt?”

“I thought you wouldn’t know.” Celier said. “A mission that was just for him. To get the Apple to safety. He shall be back within the month, give or take.”

Henri felt anger rising in his chest, but it died down almost as soon as he felt it. They were Assassins and did what the Brotherhood asked of them. It had probably been safer for only Dega to know where the Apple was and where it was headed to. Didn’t mean Henri couldn’t feel at least a bit cross about the whole thing.

Then, he remembered. The last time he had seen Dega, Dega had humored him and kissed him again. He had thought Henri would get the message.

“Do not be cross,” Celier said, and patted his shoulder once, as if he were trying to calm down a spooked animal. “The Mentor must have had his reasons, and Dega his, for not telling you.”

“I am not cross.” Henri said stubbornly, pushing his shoulder out from under Celier’s palm. Celier simply chuckled. “Me, _cross_ , over that stupid–” he muttered, as he left the library.

-

Henri did not exactly count the days, but the month turned into almost two, and then, Dega was back, his arm bandaged and in a sling. Henri only noticed when he made his daily trip to the library, and found Dega sitting there, reading some book that looked very old, but no doubt that Dega found interesting.

Dega did not tear his eyes from the book, and simply said, “Charrière.”

Henri sat opposite Dega. “A warning would have been… considerate.”

That made Dega look up, one eyebrow raised at Henri. “That is not how we do things.”

“It could be.” Henri replied. “How was Egypt?” he asked, then nodded at Dega’s injured arm.

“At the perfect time for the Brotherhood to end the Templar branch there. A lot left to do. The Templars are like a hydra, cut off one head, and two more pop out.” Dega said easily, then returned to his book. “I stayed to help, then to heal.”

“Should’ve stayed longer.” Henri said. “Looks pretty banged up.”

“Our brothers have enough work without me being there, inconveniencing them.” Dega said, but he sounded like there was supposed to be another meaning to his words. “The trip here was long but uneventful. I had time to rest. Some more weeks and my arm should be fine.”

“You told me that we would take the Apple there.” Henri pointed out. “If I’d been there, maybe…” he waved in Dega’s general direction.

Dega eyed him suspiciously. “Someone has forgotten the creed. Lower your voice.”

Henri had not. _The actions of one must never bring harm to all._ He knew it had been in everyone’s best interest for only Dega to know where the Apple was to go. That did not mean he had to like it.

“You and I are not... friends.” Dega pointed out, but there was no malice in his tone. He was simply stating a fact. “Your concern is… well. Concerning me.”

It was true that they were not exactly friends, and they both knew it, but Henri felt the all too familiar irritation he had come to associate with Dega. “I suppose we are not.”

“If you’ve been up the walls, go talk to Celier. Or the Mentor. Someone must have a task for you.” Dega suggested. “Safety and peace, _brother._ ”

Henri got up and did not say anything as he walked out of the library.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
